Ode to My Size 28 Black Stretch Pants

I recently asked the folks on Lynn’s Weigh on Facebook (BTW, are you a “fan” yet? Click here to check it out!) what they do with clothes that no longer fit as they lose weight. Most folks said they give them away (Debra suggested the organization Dress For Success), which is what I eventually did, but it took awhile for me to trust myself not to need them again.

Getting rid of old clothes is empowering, but I strongly urge you to keep one item of clothing to remind you where you’ve been and how far you’ve come, especially on those days when you struggle and think, Why am I doing this?

I kept one lone item of clothing from my 300-pound days: my size 28 black stretch pants. I wore them every day. They were my constant companion. They even went with me to the Adirondacks where I allowed my husband to take the only full-body photo of me at my highest weight (see “I *Heart* Burlington, Vermont” for the full story).

My size 28 black stretch pants were literally stretched to their limit. As I grew larger, holes began to form. Stains no longer washed out. I didn’t know it at the time, but those holes and stains reflected how I felt about myself, namely that I wasn’t worth taking care of.

Eventually I invested in Weight Watchers rather than another new wardrobe, but my confidence level was still pretty low. Fifty pounds into my weight loss, I was still wearing my old size 28 wardrobe. I posted on the WW discussion board (the 100+ To Lose board was my salvation) that my clothes bagged significantly, but that I wasn’t sure if I should buy new clothes or wait. I felt guilty about spending the money since I wasn’t convinced I wouldn’t gain it all back, and sadly I’d given away all my smaller clothes as I marched up the scale, convinced I’d be morbidly obese the rest of my life. (*See my side story at the end of this blog.)

A WW board member named CrispyRice encouraged me to invest in a few things in a smaller size. She said wearing clothes that fit would help me see the results of my weight loss, which in turn would encourage me to keep going. She also told me to not buy all black – my typical “hiding” color – and to shop at Goodwill and other second-hand shops.

Her advice was spot on. Not only did I feel good about buying a smaller size – a pair of size 24 khaki shorts and a white XL shirt (down from 3X) – I felt smaller in lighter colors and wearing fabric close to my skin as opposed to it hanging limp and devoid of form.

More importantly, I felt confident in my new, smaller clothes. Confident that I’d no longer need my larger sized wardrobe. Confident that I wasn’t gaining my weight back, not if I had anything to say about it. I bagged up the 28s and the 30/32 pant suit and gave them to Goodwill, all except for the size 28 black stretch pants – which, lest you think me tacky, I wouldn’t have actually given away given their condition. But I didn’t throw them away, either, because we have a history. They elicit the same feelings I have about photographs or special gifts.

My size 28 black stretch pants are my friend. I was wearing them the moment I joined WW online. They were on camera with me when I was on Today (both times) and Entertainment Tonight (crazy, I know) when I was promoting the People magazine's “Half Their Size” issue in 2008. And as my friend, my pants help me through those days when I wonder: Why am I doing this? Why do I journal my food? Why do I eat the way I do? Why do I (usually) say no to chocolate cake, mac n’ cheese, and half in half in my coffee? I love those things!

“Ah,” say the size 28 black stretch pants, “but you love yourself even more.”

See why we’re BFF?

(*Side story: The only exception to giving all my smaller clothes away as I was gaining weight the last time, was a size 16 lined suit that I’d only worn once. I called it my “dream suit.” When I was 300 pounds, I dreamed that it would one day fit again, but dreaming was all I did about my weight for several years. When I started to lose weight, that suit became my “goal suit.” I tried it on every other week when I got down to 200 pounds. I used the zipper as a gage for how many inches I was losing. When I was 180, Larry and I moved and I got so busy unpacking that I forgot about my goal suit. By the time I dug it out, I weighed around 155 and it was too big. Sigh. I’d missed my window of opportunity. But I still honor it for the icon it was, even though it’s probably hanging in someone else’s closet.)

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Thank you to all of you for your comments and email on my last post regarding sexuality and weight. NOT an easy subject to think about, let alone talk about, but a few brave souls did.

Congrats to Alexandra for winning the “Cardio Striptease” DVD! Alexandra blogs at “Adventures of a Done Girl Named Alex” if you want to give it a look see.

Video Review: “Cardio Striptease” (giveaway and perhaps some TMI inside)

My daughter Cassie wrote the first half of this review. My comments follow (along with a question about sexuality). If you want to win this video, leave a comment or send an email to lynnbering@verizon.net and I’ll draw a winner on Saturday!

Cassie’s Review:

When I first sat down to write this review of “Dance Off The Inches: Cardio Striptease” featuring Megan Armand, I had only completed the workout once and wasn’t really pleased. I sucked it up and did it a second time and was in a better place. I don’t know if I will continue with it, but it was a nice change of pace.

“Cardio Striptease” isn’t really about performing strippers’ moves as much as dance club moves. Workout wise, it was different from all of my other DVDs. It was fun, humorous, and had me laughing out loud. That in and of itself was worth the time put in to complete the workout. It wasn’t difficult by any means, and only a few times did I feel my heart rate elevate.

A move that I did enjoy was the one in which I’d squat fast and then slap my inner knees before slowly rise to standing. It made me feel hot and in charge.

When Megan would tell me to move sexy it would make me giggle and I’d feel both silly and glad that no one was watching me. Then I would get into it, and then I was really glad no one was watching, but I was having fun!

On a beginner level, this DVD is perfect for shaking it up. I would imagine that if I was having a fat/bloated/taking-on-water day this would be great to make me feel empowered again. It takes the same, mundane lower body exercises and makes them fun and full of energy. It’s good for anyone of any age and any fitness level.

I’d also recommend you do this DVD on either a weight training day or on a break day because it may not pump up the heart rate enough to be counted as a full cardio workout.

My overall impression “Cardio Striptease” is fun and flirty, but just not enough “oomph” to get me excited to do it again.

Lynn’s Two-Cents

The only thing I’d add to Cassie’s review is that I recommend you do this exercise on a hard surface and not carpet. It was a little hard on my knees and I couldn’t perform all the moves completely, but if your knees are in overall good condition, you’re in for a nice lower body and core workout.

Having said that, I got way more out of this video on an emotional level than a physical one. I know that sounds out there – I mean, it’s an exercise video for goodness sake. But maybe a few of you might understand where I’m coming from.

I grew up Lutheran in Minnesota. Not that that’s a bad thing, but it made me a bit anal retentive. I’ve also never been very graceful, and I get less coordinated the worse my knees get. Anal retentive plus graceless uncoordination plus overall body issues equals one very self-conscious woman.

I’ve been embarrassed by my body all my life, regardless of what I weigh. And while I’m comfortable talking about sex and have (obviously) had sex, I’ve never been comfortable with my body on a sexual level. Sexy has never been an adjective I’ve used to describe myself. That’s why “Cardio Striptease” took me WAY out of my comfort zone and despite my knees was difficult to get through.

The DVD features 10 moves, including the Booty Sit and Press and Swerve. The names alone made me blush. Megan encourages viewers to “work the hair” and “imagine you’re in stilettos,” but all the time I kept thinking how unsexy I am – and not just because I was wearing a grungy old t-shirt. And if feeling unsexy wasn’t enough, I had to watch unsexy in the mirror.

I’ve blogged many times about skin and other related self-conscious body topics, but when I tried to pretend I was taking my clothes off all sexy like, I felt all kinds of stupid and ugly and I realized I had yet another body issue frontier to conquer.

I’m very glad my daughter doesn’t have these same hangups. She felt “hot and in charge” when she did this video. I didn’t pass on my anal retentive anti-sexy genes! Woohoo!

I’d like to say I’ve made great strides in feeling sexy since I did this video last month, but I still feel as awkward and unsexy as before. I don’t tell you this to elicit sympathy. I’m hoping this starts a conversation about body acceptance in terms of sexuality, specifically in terms of being or having been overweight or obese.

How has weight affected the way you feel about yourself sexually? I understand if you don’t want to comment. This is pretty personal stuff. But I think it’s important we all think about this. We all deserve to be sexually happy in the body we have.

‘Till I Am Myself Again

What a week off. I know many of you have gone much longer due to injury or life circumstances, but geez-oh-man, six days of no exercise had me drained and all out of sorts. OK, so maybe I was drained on Sunday because of my one-night-stand with an amazing shiraz* on Saturday night, but the rest of the time it was definitely the lack of exercise.

(*Shiraz as in red wine and not a guy named Shiraz. Just wanted to be clear.)

A wrist issue grounded me from strength training Wednesday and Thursday, and the only excuse I had for not getting on the elliptical or going for a walk was that I was ticked about my wrist. Then Friday rolled around and I was out of the house at 7 a.m. to drive 10 hours to Chicago. Again, I know many of you would’ve gotten up at 3 or 4 and worked out before leaving. I aspire to be like that one day, but I doubt that will happen. I’ll just admire you and feel a little guilty for not trying harder to be you.

I had every intention Sunday night to work out on Monday, but it was Bruce’s death anniversary and I felt negative vibes all the way to my core. I stared at my computer screen for a few hours, went to my chiropractic appointment, threw a really boring salad together and called it a day.

Then (hallelujah!) came Tuesday. I woke up feeling like I’d been run over by a truck, but I knew it was because I hadn’t worked out in six days. The child in me tried to convince the mom in me to take another day off, but thank goodness my inner mom wasn’t having any of that. She snapped her fingers and gave that whiny brat a “look.” I got on the elliptical and somewhere around minute 13 – as always, like the certainty of daybreak – the endorphins kicked in and I felt like myself again.

It’s one thing to be physically unable to work out and quite another to be consciously refusing to work out. I remember three years ago when I had the cold from hell. I lost my voice, had zero energy and couldn’t work out for two weeks. I remember crying a little because I was so frustrated that I couldn’t go to the rec center. I’d have done anything to have my energy back so I could work out. Apparently I’d forgotten what that felt like last week because I was physically capable of exercising a few days, but I didn’t.

For most of my life, no matter what I weighed, I had a nagging voice in the back of my head telling me I should lose weight and I should exercise. Obviously this self-guilting got me nowhere, otherwise I’d have been maintaining a healthy weight for years! Changing “should” to “want” has made all the difference. I want to keep my weight off and I want to exercise. It just takes some reminding by my inner mom sometimes.


Ruthann said it best when she posted over on Lynn’s Weigh on Facebook that “Exercise is part of my identity.” I may not always like to exercise, but there are many things about my life I don’t always like, but I remain committed to them because in the long run they are what sustain me and keep me balanced and emotionally healthy.

Time to hop on the bike and lift a few weights. But before I go, here’s a song that picks me up when I feeling out of sorts. It’s called “Till I Am Myself Again” by Blue Rodeo. The opening line is “I want to know where my confidence went; one day it all disappeared.” ‘Nuf said.

Courtney Love Isn't My BFF, But We Have Things In Common

All day I’ve tried to write about several things – my weekend in Chicago, how it feels to have not exercised in six days, my new-found love for porcini mushrooms – but it is March 22 and there’s nothing much else on my mind except Bruce. He died 27 years ago today.

So, if you would indulge me, I’m posting this piece I wrote three years ago. I post this in memory of Bruce and to lend a voice to those who’ve lost someone, too. Grief sucks, but it’s through remembering that we continue to heal.

I have a friend who is friends with a woman who recently met Courtney Love by chance in Hawaii and the two of them spent an evening in the hotel bar smoking cigarettes and talking.

Nothing cool like that ever happens to me, and if it did, I don’t have enough in common with Courtney Love to keep her attention for longer than it would take for me to light a match for her ciggy. I don’t smoke or do drugs (is wine a drug?). I was never in rehab. I pretty much respect authority and don’t wear a lot of lipstick. I’m not tall, I don’t wear cool clothes, I can’t play guitar, I don’t write music, I’d starve if I tried to be an actress, while I’d love to marry Justin Hayward or Jon Bon Jovi, I doubt I’ll ever marry a rock star.

It would seem Courtney Love and I are quite opposite, but her recent decision to sell Kurt Cobain’s personal belongings made me realize that we’re not so different after all. We share a common denominator: both of us were widowed soon after giving birth. That would be a subject we could chat about over a few martinis.

When someone dies, especially unexpectedly, he leaves behind all the ordinary living kinds of things – a toothbrush and razor, combs, aftershave, clothes, letters from old girlfriends, tax records, photos, school yearbooks, newspaper clippings, vacation journals, maybe a car and all the crap stuffed under the seats, trinkets and gifts that decorate the house, a CD or record collection, movies, a bike, a favorite blanket…the list goes on and on. Think about it. If you died today, all the stuff you own and use that make your life the way you know it would become someone else’s to deal with, and all that stuff has to go somewhere.
“(My house) is like a mausoleum,” Love told Spinner.com. “My daughter doesn’t need to inherit a giant...bag full of flannel... shirts,” said Love. “A sweater, a guitar and the lyrics to ‘(Smells Like) Teen Spirit’ – that’s what my daughter gets. And the rest of it we’ll just...sell.”

I gave away most of Bruce’s clothes when he died (I kept his bowling shirt) and threw out his toiletries. But I’ve hauled around boxes of his stuff from house to house to house, from marriage to marriage to marriage, and I’m thinking it’s time to lighten the load a little. Maybe it’s time to let our daughter decide what she wants to keep and what she wants to sell or toss. I have our wedding album, some photos, his letters and a memory. That’s all I need.

Well, that and the television.

Yesterday, I gave away all the things I originally was going to sell at a garage sale, but I don’t have the time to host a garage sale. One of the things in my garage (and has occupied space in every garage I’ve had since 1983) is the Hitachi turn-dial 13-inch television my parents gave us for our wedding. When the guys were loading the truck yesterday to haul all my stuff away, the television was on the chopping block. But when I saw it there on the floor, waiting its turn to be lugged away like all the other stuff, I caved and told them to leave it.

I couldn’t let it go, even though it’s just sitting there reminding me of what was. I don’t need it, I don’t use it, so why do I keep it around?

Maybe it’s because it’s more tangible than a photograph. Bruce used this television. Touched it, watched it, moved the antennae around. We watched the last episode of “M*A*S*H” on that television. I laid in his lap, I was very pregnant and very emotional, and cried the entire two hours. We watched “Shogun,” “Winds of War,” “East of Eden” (the movie that inspired us to name our baby Caleb if it was a boy), “Family Ties,” “Fridays,” and “Saturday Night Live.”

There was no remote. We had to get up and change the channel (I liked watching Bruce’s ass tucked inside his Wranglers or Levis as he walked to the TV and bent over to turn the knob), and we fell asleep watching “Rocky and Bullwinkle” cartoons on that TV the first few days of Carlene’s life. It’s the one functional thing I kept from our good life, our real life. I don’t want to let that go.

So what’s a little space in the garage? I’ll let Carlene go through the rest of the stuff. The television will stay where it is.

Maybe one day Courtney Love and I can discuss the merits of keeping an old television set in a garage. I’m sure she’d understand.

That's Not My Name and That's OK

I used to think walking was merely a way to get from point A to point B or to exercise. Sometimes both. When I’m alone, I’m plugged into my iPod. When I’m with a friend, we talk. A walk is a walk is a walk…until I walked with Claire.

The girl doesn’t know it, but she always knows exactly what to do and say to put things in perspective.

This morning we decided to walk uptown to the post office and library. She put on her Dora sneakers and tan jacket, and I surprised her with new purple mittens with hearts and rainbows I bought her on winter clearance. This made her very happy.

I put on my pink backpack loaded with the envelopes that needed to be mailed, my phone and some money since I was pretty sure I had library fines to reconcile. Claire put on her Dora backpack.

The weather was lovely – sunny and about 40 degrees when we started walking. Sidewalks are inconsistent for the first few blocks, so we cut down an alley to avoid street traffic. As we passed a garage, Claire asked, “Where’d my shadow go?”

“What, honey?” I asked.

She stopped. “My shadow, Grammy.”

Shadow? But of course! I haven’t thought about my shadow since I was a kid, except to maybe avoid looking at it when I was obese.

“It’s hidden by the garage,” I told her. “Let’s move back into the sunshine.”

“There it is! It’s big!” she said. “You have a big shadow, too, Grammy!” and she waved. “See my hand?”

I waved back with both hands. She giggled.

“I see your fingers in the shadow,” she said.

When we turned the corner we were back on a sidewalk and our shadows were in front of us. Claire hopped over each crack for the rest of the block, thrilled that her shadow kept up with her.

We got to a corner at which we had to cross a street. I was holding her hand and was just going to walk her across when it dawned on me that I could teach her how to properly cross a street.

“Always stop before walking out on to the street,” I said. “Look to your left. Do you see a car coming?”

Looking very concentrated, she peered down the street. “No,” she said seriously.

“Now look to your right. Any cars?”

“Nope.”

“OK, that means we can cross safely.”

We walked down a street I’ve walked for years, but I’d never really noticed that the Purinton’s house was blue or the rental next door had green trim until Claire pointed it out. Then she spied tiny purple flowers in the next yard.

“Oooo! Those are crocuses,” I told her.

“Crocheches,” she repeated. Close enough.

I wouldn’t have noticed them on an ordinary walk. I notice them in my own yard because I’m looking for them, but crocuses are even better when you’re not seeking them out and spectacular when you unexpectedly get to introduce them to a 2-year-old who loves the colors purple and green.

“I run real fast, Grammy!” and she took off. I kept up by walking more briskly, but it was fun to let her get to the next house a little before I did.

We were getting close to another corner and she took my hand. We stopped, she looked both ways, and we walked safely across.

We went to the post office first, which is next door to the library. I handed the envelopes to the mail clerk. Claire said, “I want to see,” so I lifted her up to sit on the counter.

“I like your mittens,” said the clerk. Claire’s shy and so she just smiled and looked down at the hearts and rainbows.

“Can she have a lollipop?” he whispered to me. I nodded.

“Would you like a lollipop?” he asked Claire.

“Yes,” she said rather boldly, and I thought, Yeah, I’ve always preferred candy over compliments, too.

She reached in the bag and pulled out a small chocolate flavored Tootsie-Pop. She’s definitely my granddaughter.

“What do you say?” I asked her.

“Thank you,” she said staring at her mittens again, but he heard her.

“You’re welcome,” he said.

She insisted I open the wrapper before we left the post office and I didn’t want her to bring it into the library, so we sat on a bench out front and she ate her lollipop.

“A black truck,” she pointed to the street. “That’s Papa’s truck.” Her dad’s dad is Papa and drives a pickup.

“No, that’s not Papa’s truck, but it looks like it,” I said.

“That’s a red car,” she continued and crunched her lollipop.

“Hear that?” she asked.

“That’s a blue jay,” I said.

“Blue jay,” she repeated and took another bite of her lollipop.

Watching Claire observe the world around her – the world I’ve very much taken for granted – this Ting-Tings song came into my head:

They call me girl
They call me Stacey
They call me her
They call me Jane


That’s not my name
That’s not my name
That’s not my name
That’s not my name

They can call me Emily. They can call me Shawna. But that’s not my name. I’m Grammy. I’m Mom. I’m Lynn. I know who I am. I know how I lost weight. I could spend all kinds of money fighting these bogus websites illegally using my images only to find other sites doing the same thing. Or I can let it go and live in the world around me. My real world.

I have a shadow. The crocuses are blooming. I’m teaching Claire how to cross the street and what a blue jay sounds like. People can believe what they want about my images. I know what’s true. Nothing else matters.

(By the way, “That’s Not My Name” is a spiffy workout song.)

God Save The Queen

If I seem a little quiet lately, not as chatty, not posting on other people’s blogs as much as usual, it’s because March is a tough month. 27 years ago, March started out great with the birth of my daughter, then it quickly went down hill when my husband died 11 days later. Today’s his birthday, in fact. He’d have been 51.

It doesn’t help that right now I’m “Emily” and “Shawna” on bogus diet websites that use my before and after photos (and photos of my grandchildren!!) and a fabricated story that I used colon cleanses, resveritrol and acai berries to lose weight. You know and I know that isn’t true, but there are thousands of folks who see my before and after photos on those sites and think it’s really how I did it. And they’re getting ripped off because of it. Pardon my language, but this really pisses me off.

When I was a kid, I rarely stuck up for myself. I allowed people to say some pretty cruel things about me or my beliefs without me putting up much of a defense. I’d defend my friends, and when I had children, I was always their protector, but when it came to me, it was like I didn’t matter.

When I took on the task of losing weight, I never imagined so many inner demons would line up to fight to justify their existence in my life, and lately the more I meditate, the more I realize the ways I remain the queen of acquiescence.

The folks who stole my image to make a profit are no different than the boys who called me fat, the girls who threatened to not be my friend if I didn’t give them candy from my dad’s store, or even my ex-husband (not the one who died) who tossed me around a time or two. They are all bullies, and ignoring them – which was always the advice I got – didn’t make them go away.

It’s ironic that my weight is the crux of the issue with my cyber bullies, only the problem now is that it’s expensive to take on these bullies. Words – at least ones sent by me – aren’t enough. I had to hire an attorney to fight these jerks, but two of the sites are based in the UK and so my new BFF (or rather, bloke) will probably be an attorney in London who is an associate of my attorney in Pittsburgh. Helluva time to have gone to a cash-only budget, eh?

Most of us at some point have encountered bullies. I’m curious who yours are and how you handled them. Did your weight hold you back? Where do you find your confidence?

March sucks, and I’ll probably cry about this later tonight. I might even scream into my pillow. But know that I really appreciate you listening.

My Lentil Weekend

I wrote over on Lynn’s Weigh yesterday on Facebook (come join us over there!) that when I get a hankering for a particular food, I eat it to death over the course of a few weeks then forget about it for awhile. This weekend lentils sounded really good, so I dug out my favorite lentil soup recipe and tried a new lentil “burger” recipe. Thought I’d share them both with you.

I can’t remember where I got this soup recipe, so I apologize to whomever I lifted this from. I modified it a bit, but it’s not originally my recipe.

Lentil Vegetable Soup
Makes 6 2-cup servings

1 large onion, chopped
2-3 cloves garlic, chopped
1 t ground cumin
2 t chili powder
3 C veggie broth
1 C dried lentils (I sometimes use ½ C of lentils to make it more soupy)
1 can (14.5 oz) diced tomatoes, undrained (fire-roasted is fabulous!)
1 can (8 oz) tomato sauce
1 can (4.5 oz) chopped green chilies, undrained
1 C frozen corn
2 medium carrots, chopped (about 2 cups)
2 small zucchini, diced (about 2 cups)

Spray a 3-quart saucepan with cooking spray and sauté onion, garlic, spices in a little veggie broth until veggies are soft. Add everything else, cover and simmer for 35-45 minutes, depending on how soft you like your lentils.

I modified a lentil meatball recipe that I found through Loser For Life Marisa’s blog. She originally got from In Jennie’s Kitchen. I made 8 patties rather than 18 meatballs and I’m using them like veggie burgers.

The original recipe is below with my modifications in parenthesis.

Lentil Ricotta Meatballs
Makes about 18

2 cups cooked lentils, pureed (I cooked them in vegetable broth rather than plain water)
2 large eggs, lightly beaten (1/2 C Egg Beaters)
2/3 cup plain breadcrumbs (I ground 2/3 C regular oatmeal)
1/2 cup fresh ricotta (I used low-fat ricotta)
1/4 cup grated Parmesan cheese
1 1/2 teaspoon chopped parsley
Salt and freshly ground pepper, to taste

Jennie’s cooking instructions: Add all ingredients to a deep bowl. Mix very well, using hands or a wooden spoon. Cover and refrigerate for two hours or overnight.

When ready to cook, shape mixture into 1 1/2-inch balls. Heat about 1/2-inch of oil in a nonstick skillet over medium flame. Add shaped “meatballs” and cook until browned all around, turning only once. Transfer to a paper towel-lined plate and let excess drain off. Add to simmering marinara sauce if serving immediately, or store in a tightly covered container up to three days.

Lynn’s burger instructions: Preheat oven to 375. Lightly spray a baking sheet. Add all ingredients in a bowl and mix well. Form into 8 patties (they will seem runny, but they’ll hold together, I promise) and place on baking sheet. Bake 20-30 minutes and flip them. Bake an additional 15-20 minutes or until they are brown.

Note: I didn’t cover and refrigerate for two hours, but I might try that next time if I’m not pressed for time. They turned out very nicely anyway. I’m having a leftover burger for lunch today so I’ll see how well they do in the fridge. I also put three in the freezer to see how they fare that way, too.

I’ll probably make them as meatballs at some point, too, and mix them with my homemade sauce and Shiratake noodles.

Forgive the short blog. The first Sunday of daylight savings is always a catch-up day. Why is losing an hour like losing a whole day? LOL